slim, dark, melancholy man, thoughtful and
rather tired. Here, too, is a portrait of
the bluff sailor earl himself, who brought
Charles to England, and founded the fortunes of
his own family and that of Mr. Pepys—a kind,
handsome, jovial face; everybody's friend, everybody's
lover; but with such a scorn of your
mere citizen, that he could say he would
"rather see his daughter with a pedlar's pack
upon her back than married to one of them."
A noble cavalier, proud, brave, ignorant, high-
hearted. The portrait of Cromwell is a poor
one. There is a handsome likeness of the
present earl, given him by a grateful tenantry;
a deserved tribute to a good man.

Once out of the boxed-up little gardens, and
beyond the skittle-ground, the outside park is
so lovely, that it seemed strange that its
possessor should have ever cared for the vulgar
strife of petty politics and court intrigues. The
landscape and grounds are still the same as
those which Cromwell looked upon. They are
studded with majestic oaks and spreading yew-
trees, and fair with lovely uplands, where the
cows browse upon grass crisp and fresh.

And now away again past the portress's
lodge. Her pleasant curtsey and good-bye
rousing an astonished echo amidst the stillness
of the tranquil day, as we leave the place all
bathed and sleeping in sunshine and repose,
with its old historic memories like a halo round
it. The caw of the rook and the coo of the
wild dove are heard among the trees and fields.
Our footsteps grate strangely upon the gravel
of the road; every footfall very loud. The gnat
and the mote are abroad in the sunbeam, and
the prosperous bee wings his flight towards
the gardens. Birds sing delightfully on every
hedge-row. Child-voices come, and go, and
prattle, as the children stop to gather berries,
and romp on again. Pheasants call from their
cover; a distant mill clatters busily; the still
bubble of fish oozes to the surface of the placid
water, unruffled by a breeze. So along amidst
these sweet country sights and sounds, with
echoing footsteps, a solitary market-cart
approaching in the distance—all steeped in
sunshine—blessed healthful English sunshine, which
lights, and warms, and gladdens, and which does
not blast and scorch! Could the old fable, that
the children of the earth gained strength whenever
they returned to her, be really meant for
application to Londoners out for a holiday? I
would give something to lie down for an hour
in these fields; I am sure I should be the better
for it. In Russia it is found a sovereign
cure for rheumatism to bathe the patient in
warm earth on which the sun shines.

But here we are at the house of the late
S. Pepys, Esq., at Brampton. It is but a mile
from Hinchingbroke. This old manor-house of
Brampton really was Pepys's house, and not
the farm-house at the entrance of Brampton
village, as is sometimes supposed. Here is
the close garden where the guineas were buried
when the Dutch came up the Thames, and all
which the prince of gossips never could find
again when he tried to dig them up—as quaintly
chronicled in his diary.

As if in strange banter with its old
association, and with Pepys's hatred of horsemanship,
Pepys's house has now become the home of a
horse-tamer,well known by all the country round.
We are kindly welcomed by a jovial, sensible-
looking man, of the true Cromwell or
Huntingdonshire build. Strong, rather thick-set,
of plain speech and manners, he might well
have been a country mayor or town
councilman of old-fashioned ways but for his dress,
which is professional, and shows that he is
indeed the horse-tamer himself, a successful
disciple of Mr. Rarey. But says he, confidentially,
at an early stage of our acquaintance, " Rarey's
cream was all skim-milk before I took to it, so
there are no five thousand guineas for me."
However, he still seems to do very well, and
he told us readily and good naturedly how he
did it.

"It is, you know, sir," said he, "quieting
of them by kindness" (the great politeness of
bis discourse gave an infinite zest to it); " and
if you will only oblige me by coming along in
here, you shall see for yourself."

So we entered a dim little shed, where a
bright glimpse of garden came in through a
circular hole in the wall, and our entertainer
took a strong, raw-boned, thorough-bred colt
by " Richmond," and threw it down on the soft
ground, after the manner of Rarey. The horse
made several desperate efforts to get up; but,
after fighting furiously, soon lay quite quiet and
subdued, with eyes looking humbly up for some
sign of encouragement and kindness. Sitting
gently down upon the prostrate colt, and
stroking its nose and ears softly, the trainer
continued his agreeable teaching by beating a
kettle-drum at its ears, opening and shutting an
umbrella violently before its eyes, and dancing
on its ribs.

"Horses," he observed philosophically, " take
a liking to a man who manages of them properly
-- for their good and our own. Now, my
system subdues them, as you see, and don't
take too much out of their legs. You have no
call to pull at a horse to make him back."

The colt was now erect. A lamb in behaviour,
and was being taught to back.

"If you pull at him, he's stronger than you
are, and he gets the pull against you. When I
want to make a horse back, I stand before him,
and tap him smartly in front.  He soon gets
away from the whip; and then, if you pull the
rein gently, he will learn what you want. When
a horse once knows what you want, I say that
man does no wrong to punish him if he don't
obey, with whip and with spur, one or both;
only do not go for to punish him when he
don't know what he has done wrong, or hasn't
done right."

A child steals in to us, a round-headed, golden-
haired, rosy-cheeked boy, sturdy and shy, but
not indisposed to entertain friendly proposals,
having reference to " suckers," as they call
lollipops down here. He nestles up to his